


Cinq Sens

by Out_Of_Custody



Category: Daredevil (TV), Iron Fist (TV), Jessica Jones (TV), Luke Cage (TV), The Defenders (Marvel TV), Thor (Movies)
Genre: BAMF Darcy, Creative Threats, F/M, Falling In Love, Fluff without Plot, Foggy's facial hair, Greek Food, I don't know Cypress Hills, Infinity Wars, Josie's bar, Pining, Rings, SHIELD are asses, Senses, Sound, Swearing, Taste, Time changes, Williamsburg too, and I don't mean to offend, descriptive, devilshock, drunk people, elektra dies, feel, five senses, i don't wanna tag, illegal substances, matt has it bad, perfumes, scent, sensualist, sight, slight angst, sorry people living there, subdued Darcy, this is just internet knowledge, you don't go around tasting people
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-19
Updated: 2016-10-19
Packaged: 2018-08-23 10:52:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,639
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8324983
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Out_Of_Custody/pseuds/Out_Of_Custody
Summary: This, in and of itself, should not have warranted the almost violent reaction he had to the thought – after all one didn’t just walk around tasting people.





	

She likes to wear men’s perfume. Her favourite is a Hugo Boss scent and the first time he smelt it on her he was devastated by the way it meshed perfectly with her body’s chemistry.

It shouldn’t have – but it did and on the days when she wore it, frolicking through their office and cleaning up their mess after Karen, it drove him half out of his mind. He had expected it to cloy and to weigh her down but it did neither and instead wafted about her as if it were _Chanel No 5_.

There are special occasions, too, on which she liked to wear a marvellously heavy scent that reminded him of old leather – a rich bouquet, and an expensive one too, considering it was _Kniže Ten_ and cost a good deal more than she should be able to afford as self-proclaimed ‘Professional Intern’, which was why he considered it to be either a lucky grab from a Second-Hand Market or some sort of inheritance from an older relative.

So when she sauntered in on an innocent Tuesday afternoon heralded by a springy, citrusy scent he needed a double-take to identify her.

He was unconceivably relieved when she returned to wearing Men’s Perfume and spritzed the female scent only for the really, utterly, important occasions because as much as the first was irresistible on her, the second made him want to pin her to the next best surface and have his merry way with her.

 

\--

 

_Darcy May Lewis finds her way to them in the most unexpected and unspectacular way._

_The lawsuit against SHIELD that would draw them together only came later, when she had already made herself a place among them – perilous and silent, but a place nonetheless._

 

\--

 

In the beginning her words had been subdued, a habit forced unto her he quickly realized as – sometimes – she would slip up, her voice rising until she realized what was happening and, from one moment to the next, reigning herself in, returning to the pressed quiet.

He would have called it demure, if it weren’t for the fact that it was a study in self-oppression.

Phil Coulson’s appearance in their dingy office one morning changed this so very drastically that he practically bolted up the stairs, registering her loud yelling. And it was yelling: full-bellied and pitched so perfectly to _carry_ that a stage-singer might have been jealous of it, there was no high note to it to indicate her stress and if it wouldn’t have been for the fact that he hadn’t heard her voice go over 50 decibel before, and that was when she lost hold of her tight discipline over her speech he might not have noticed it.

As it was, she was at a, very literal, roaring 70 dB from a twelve feet distance and he didn’t check himself when he collided, shoulder first, with a very surprised Director-Agent Of SHIELD.

After her case had been closed, Matt was pleased to slowly come to hear her voice _au naturel_ – a smoky thing, velvety and full of spark that he didn’t need to see for and a pleasant hum about the office.

He went out with her – them – only once when he discovered that the smokiness in her voice did certain things to him and would ‘come out to play’ when in equally nebulous environments.

 

\--

 

_She is a force to be reckoned with once she loosens her own reins a little and the whirlwind she embodies floats him – them – safely through the day, ensconces them in warmth and caring in a way that makes him want to flutter around her and remain in her near vicinity for all the time he can afford._

_He wonders how it comes that the Devil always manages to find himself prancing around the purest creatures he can find._

 

\--

 

Not having the ability to _see_ her did not inhibit Matt from having a perfect picture of just who Darcy Lewis was.

Their newest assistant, taking over the part-time job for Karen now that their former secretary had chosen to work as a journalist as well, was a study of drowning-in-the-crowd when she first arrived for her job interview. Flat shoes that barely padded on the linoleum floor, whispering tissues that dulled the sounds of her body underneath it, only the slightest hint of (men’s) perfume and no jewellery to jump out of her ensemble and betray her with the shrieking of metal.

Her voice was a restrained thing that only sometimes would come out to play and her entire being appeared muted to him.

But her flame… her _being_ burnt so brightly to his eyes that he waited in silent wonderment, when she would ever live up to the mighty blaze that ensconced her and unfold the wings that he almost expected to see emerge under her shoulder-blades and _rise_. He didn’t know why he waited for her to turn into a bird.

He would know, months later, that he had misjudged her vastly. For when S.H.I.E.L.D. had finally paid what they owed her and legally vowed to never contact her again, the metal he’d been waiting for appeared around her neck, around her fingers and even on places on her body he would not have expected. The shriek he expected to hear from it never came and instead he would listen to the sweet singing of it when it brushed against the soft tissues she continued to dress herself in.

Her voice would ring melodious through the office and would join the singing of the metal on her body if she guessed herself to be alone – Matt had stopped to count the evenings he spent sitting on the stairs up to the offices listening to her and watching her beautiful body dance through the offices in a clean-up-ballet.

 

\--

 

_When he finally finds the courage to talk to her privately it has been nearly a year since she has come to them and both Karen and Foggy have been pestering him to be ‘a little nicer’ to Darcy for what feels like ages._

_He doesn’t have the heart to tell them that it has nothing to do with the fact that he doesn’t want to be nice to her and that he instead wants to be extremely nice with her._

_When they hit it off in an asinine conversation about 80s rock of all things he is not surprised at all (he pretends not to notice the money that exchanges the hands of Foggy and Karen)._

\--

 

He had the pleasure of feeling her throughout the time she was in his near vicinity. There would be the little things, like when she would hand him stacks of paper that she had managed to transcribe into Braille within a night when it would have taken him three to read them with his Braille-Reader and his fingers would brush over hers in a show of slight discoordination.

Her fingers and her hands were slightly more calloused than one would expect of a permanent office fixture and just this side of stronger than anticipated

Even before he admitted to himself that he liked the way the rest of her made an impression on him, he came to covet the feeling of the room she would take next to him, the space that her body occupied on a chair or standing next to a table. He liked feeling her close to him because even if he couldn’t make her out in her silence, he could feel the vibrating hum of her essence under her skin and it called sweetly to him.

Later when he would get closer to her, he liked to feel the crook of her elbow under his hand, whichever one it was, and the swaying gait of her as she guided him – the muscles of her arm flexed in the same rhythm that she lead him to wherever they went. He liked feeling her hands on his lower back when she changed sides, manoeuvring him in such a way that he would never be closest to the traffic.

As she loosened up, he came to enjoy the feeling of her shoulders shaking in silent laughter when he cracked a joke as she guided him; he relished in the strands of hair that tickled his chin and his nose just so if she turned and he started to look forward to the ritualistic hug that he would receive at the start and the end of every work day.

The hugs were the highlight of his every day.  
Feeling the exquisite curves of her pressed so very close to him nearly cost him his resolve on a daily basis and every time he walked away he thanked God that he was alive to experience it and prayed that he would never get on her bad side lest she deny him this pleasure.

 

\--

 

_It takes them time before they come clean to each other._

_The second year of her employment is almost over when he finally confesses to her that he is The Devil and because he is not the only one with secrets, she admits to the whole extent of what happened with S.H.I.E.L.D. He is so utterly enraged that he contemplates a Devil-Crusade against the organization. Darcy tells him off almost as soon as the thought has crossed his mind._

_“Don’t think you can go all Shining Knight on this, you bastard.”—she hisses when something in his face betrays him. “I’ve made my choice and so did they. You go out there and dig up the dead and I cannot promise that I’ll be able to stay in the aftermath.”_

_She has a point, naturally, and Matt has to leave it at that.  
Not lastly because he wants to keep her._

\--

 

It was some time around Elektra’s re-emergence and Frank’s crusade when he realized that Darcy Lewis had entered his life one sense at a time. He had scented her, he had listened to her body and her voice, he had felt her fingers and her arms and he had seen her blaze long before she’d let it be seen to those with eyes – but not once, and he wasn’t quite certain what to make of the sudden epiphany, had he tasted her.

This, in and of itself, should not have warranted the almost violent reaction he had to the thought – after all one didn’t just walk around _tasting_ people.

They had a mostly professional relationship, discounting all the late nights at his Loft or her decrepit apartment somewhere in Cypress Hills that the law-team had spent meshing together over the occasional movie (Foggy had had a laughing fit when Darcy had not been above bringing _Legally Blonde_ to one such movie-night at Karen’s), a few beers or other libations at Josie’s, or simply Thai to celebrate yet another successful case under their belt.

There had even been the one or two evenings when either Foggy or Karen had needed friendly support for a night of drinking-to-forget-that-asshole and Darcy was a wonderful co-pilot on those affairs.

So no, he wasn’t certain where this vehement desire to _taste_ her – at least once – stemmed from, because he was rather certain that she was as perfect as it could get when working in Hell’s Kitchen alongside its very own Devil and living in one of the absolutely dirtiest streets of Cypress Hills. He couldn’t see any longer but he imagined that one touch of his lips would taint what Foggy had, drunkenly, described as the prettiest, palest, snow-whitest skin in all of New York with black tar that would never be removed.

Maybe exactly this conflict in regards to Darcy, who stood by his side and slotted herself into the space he left open at the Firm so easily and wordlessly – and without the slightest demand for gratefulness or thanks that the three of them showered her in nevertheless – was what made him irresolute when Elektra came on to him and he gave in to the temptation that was her smoky voice reminding him of Darcy’s much missed treble, her deft fingers that were but a shade too rough in comparison to Darcy’s and her sinful body that moved in a bellicose facsimile to Darcy’s Office Ballets that he still reserved front-row-stair-seats to every now and then.

Matt was not surprised when it ended in the same fashion that many stories intertwining with the Devil did – in smoke and blood with a lost boy cradling yet another rapidly cooling body in his arms.

 

\--

 

_Darcy is the one to break into his apartment with a backpack full of clinking bottles, Greek food that is so fatty he smelt it before she broke his one good window and illegal substances that she swears she knows nothing about._

_They get so far gone on every single of her gifts that Matt doesn’t remember crying or puking or yelling or being angry the next morning when he wakes up to Darcy audibly sweeping the concrete floor of his Condo._

_“Can we start working again?”—she asks him when he exits his bedroom on careful feet, almost immediately noticing the changes in his flat. Darcy seems unfazed by the veritable mess she’s standing in._

_For a moment he’s silent, gives her what feels like a confused look on his face – one that she answers with a soft smile. “Because as kick-ass as I am, I have not gone to Law-School and while Foggy is absolutely killing it in the Court Room, the Judge is a little fed up with his presence and I think your Avocado-Buddy would be delighted to see your face again. Also…”—she smirks somewhat at this, “…he has this absolutely atrocious tuft on his chin that he wants to call a beard and I simply need to hear what you have to say to that.”_

_“Oh God, no.”—is the first thing that comes out of his mouth. “Not the Facial Hair again.”_

\--

 

Post-Frank Castle saw Nelson & Murdoch off to a rocky continuation of pretty much everything from cases to teamwork to ‘simple’ friendship. Karen found herself unwilling to deal with a man who had neither regard for personal safety, the safety of his friends or even his profession and Foggy had been put through the ringer because of him professionally and personally speaking.

As it was, Darcy was the one person holding them together.

She took up walking them home on a rotation – Foggy, Karen, Matt, Foggy, Karen, Matt, Sunday – which usually ended up with her having dinner and a movie or a talk with whoever she went with and slowly, carefully pulling them back together.

When first he got wind of Ms Jones and Messrs Cage and Rand, Darcy was the one to cautiously sell the idea to both of this associates, by then tentative friends of his – they weren’t back to movie-nights and drunken shenanigans (if anything told Matt just how beyond fucked he was it was this) but they were at least able to talk to each other again – and let him know that if he was thinking about joining them then he would have to man up on some fronts.

As she correctly told him he owed them that much at least.

He had never before wanted to kiss her as badly as that night at his Condo when she screwed his head back on the right way over Thai and _Boondock Saints_.

 

\--

 

_“I can’t not.”—he tells them succinctly, hears the defeated slump of Foggy’s shoulders in the crinkle of his suit and Karen’s disbelieving affront in the tiny huff she exhales through her upturned nose as she shakes her head, strands of her hair tickling her collar. Darcy, through all of this, is a quietly-humming-steadiness amidst them, her metal silently singing against her body but otherwise calm and focussed on him._

_He realizes that moment that she inherently understands, for some reason, why he needs to throw himself down fire escapes and onto the backs of goons, why he hurls himself from roof to roof over back-alleys and why his walking cane seconds as a Jo-Staff._

_“I can promise to not ignore Court Dates like I’ve done in the past – to give warnings when I fall in too deep. I cannot promise to call when I’m bound and gagged somewhere.”—he tries for levity but it’s mostly useless in the thick air in the room._

_“And what about us?”—Darcy asks quietly._

_Matt looks up from where he’s been intently staring at the hands he’d been wringing. He knows she doesn’t just ask for herself, but for Karen and for Foggy who had been through shit before where he hadn’t been able to reach them. He knows about Karen’s secret now – he’s not ever going to let her live through something like that again if he can prevent it._

_“God have mercy on the ruddy fucker who dares to lay hands on either of you.”—he growls._

_He means every syllable of it._

_\--_

 

He went back to watching her After-Hours-Ballets on a regular basis, letting her voice and the song of metal against soft silk lull him into relaxation; he returned to anticipating the stroke of her fingers as they passed documents off each other; he looked forward again to her odd choices in perfume heralding her arrival and to the smokiness of her voice gently coaxing him from deep thought.

It was different in a way that it stayed the same.

Her After-Hours-Ballets were swapped with Early-Bird-Specials due to her Take-Home-Duties as she liked to call them; her men’s perfume mixed with the scents of the coffee she brought along; her voice evened out, despite the smokiness remaining and the metal in and on her skin stopped humming and started to tinkle like little bells.

Matt liked spreading his senses and finding her near to everywhere around him.

It was around this time, too, that both Karen and Foggy realized that his perceived aversion about her had never originated from a veritable dislike of the young woman, and rather the opposite. He could tell by the way that both of the blondes watched his interactions with Darcy a little closer than usually and in the way they closed in on his Office Ballerina whenever he was around.

He wasn’t too certain which one of them it was – he assumed it was Foggy though – that rooted for them, but he was well aware that between the two of them the opinions on his advances towards Darcy differed. As it was, however, they were solid enough to allow both him and the young woman to solve the situation on their own.

As it was, it took six months for both Foggy as well as Karen to come to terms with the fact that now that he was no longer _alone_ in fighting the next Head-Honcho he could, indeed, afford to fight crime as a much-fretted-about Vigilante by night and still make it to Court Dates and Client Meetings throughout the day.

In this time, he had come to admit, that without Darcy’s watchful eyes, he would probably never have managed to rebuild the trust of his friends in him.

 

\--

 

_She is unwavering in her glare even when faced with the energized fist of the young man in front of him._

_“You touch me and I swear to all that is sacred to you, I will find an umbrella, shove it up your ass and **Open. Up. Wide.** ”—he’s forgotten what a terrifying thing her voice can be when it drops one octave lower than it should be able to and compress into a dangerous growl._

_Jessica, next to Luke, gives an amused snort as she turns her upper body towards his and even Matt has to fight the smile on his face._

_“Come on, Dan, y’ain’t winnin’ this one.”—Luke placates their keyed up team-member with the low Bass-voice that he usually reserves for calming down conflicts in his Bar. For a second Iron Fist does not move and Matt doesn’t need eyes to witness the wordless exchange happening between him and Darcy before feet shuffle and the woman plonks down next to him, ripping the sloppy wrap off his side with no patience._

_“Jesus.”—she seethes. “One would think that between the three of you, you’d manage to tie a bandage that put pressure on a wound.”_

_She’s merciless when she re-ties the bandage with fresh gauze that she fishes out of her bag, heedless to his whimpers. “Suck it up, buttercup.”—she shushes him. “I wouldn’t have to do this if you’d just go to Melvin already, fucking shit.”_

_He doesn’t quite want to tell her that he has a suit in commission already, because he is kind of in love with the swear-words that will pour out of her mouth in these situations – outside of the office. For a few moments he breathes with some difficulty, before something gives and he can stop wheezing, taking his first lungful of air since an hour._

_Darcy’s hair swishes, indicates a satisfied nod._

_“This is for when he goes into shock.”—she’s handing Jessica a syringe. “I’m trusting you not to break it or throw it away like the boys would.”—Darcy has an astoundingly acute reading of the team even though this is her first time meeting them; he can feel Jessica’s growing amusement even in his current state. “He’ll insist on coming with you, so make sure that you cover his left side, it’s his weaker one and one broken rib is so enough.”_

_She turns on her heels then, gives him a thorough stare. “And keep in mind, my little Paddy, that we have rendezvous tomorrow at nine and we need you bright eyed and bushy-tailed for it.”_

_Matt groans; he’s forgotten._

_“Sucks to be you.”—she soothes him shortly, pats the side of his face shortly before she turns to leave. “Don’t die!”—the jaunty good-bye-call over her shoulder is the last thing he hears from her as she is moving to exit the run-down warehouse with even steps that echo down the halls._

_Jessica’s leather-jacket creaks somewhat as she pockets the drug. “You’ve got yourself a spitfire there.”—she remarks with a smirk that he can hear. “I quite like her.”_

_They don’t comment any further on it.  
It’s a rule they’d established first thing: no dropping innocent names during The Game. _

 

\--

 

The first time the four of them watched a movie together again, Darcy was all too enthusiastic to welcome them to her abode – all new and _not_ in Cypress Hills. Though, to be quite honest, he was not quite certain how much better her new corner around Williamsburg was. It was closer though, he had to give her that and her flat was warm, something that her last apartment had lacked to ever become.

But because it was still a small thing – she was living of a barely-even-there-wage – the four of them had to press together on the couch in a tumble of limbs, house-socks and the largest fleece-blanket he’d ever encountered as the young woman shamelessly lobbied for the continuation of _Legally Blonde_.

Matt could barely concentrate on the fact that she won her debate against both Foggy and Karen as she pressed her supple body into his – he was seated at one of the far ends of the couch, Foggy taking the other end, the two women in their midst, boxes of Thai mingling with bowls of chips and popcorn on the TV-table next to them.

He relished in the cuddle of her woollen sweater against his formerly pressed shirt that was well underway of getting rumpled, the tickling of her hair against his jaw and the wafts of her perfume that rose to his nose every time she moved.

As odd as the concept struck him for a moment, he was happy like this – even when the woman almost in his arms crowed victoriously and manipulated Foggy into putting the DVD in. He’d had a life before Darcy, he’d had women before Darcy, but none of it came even close to the first moment that he’d had a taste of life with this woman in it.

 

Who cared if he could not seem to find his balls and ask her out on a proper date when all he had to do now was shuffle just the slightest bit in order to collect her properly against him and listen to the descriptive subtitles that went with the movie?

Who cared when she relaxed so readily against him, legs entwined with Karen’s who had curled into a small ball against Foggy’s shoulder who had already dropped off as he was wont to?

Who cared when she moved her fingers over his jaw like that as the world around her was just as dark as it had first been to him?

Who cared when she snuggled even closer as he dared to place his arms around her midsection and squeeze her gently to him?

Who cared when he could be this happy?

 

\--

 

_She kisses him first when he returns from their first, less than magnificent, adventure with the Avengers and other renowned heroes in a suicidal effort to defend Earth from The Mad Titan that Matt hadn’t even needed to see in order to feel the crazy on._

_It’s not the slightest bit shy either and it takes him a moment in his living room, before he presses her against the back of his couch, sipping from her mouth in stark contrast to what he’d always imagined. Her lips are beautifully pliant as they dance with his, her glasses slightly askew on her button-nose caressing his cheek as he lifts his hand to undo the cowl around his face. It slips just barely before her hands move upwards and push it away, fingers spearing gently through his dirty hair._

_He wants to tell her he hasn’t washed in a week; feels the sudden awareness of dirt and grime clinging to him rush through is very being and he almost disentangles them if it wouldn’t be for the gentle reminder of her lips on his._

_She nips on his lower lip, collects it between her teeth, suckles and when he can’t quite close his mouth after that, Darcy does not give two shits about brushing teeth, carefully tapping her tongue against his._

_Time has passed when they separate again and she doesn’t speak when she pulls him along and towards the bathroom, warm and already misted up._

_“You go get yourself in order and then we’ll have a talk about pining, you ass.”—she tells him, kissing the underside of his jaw, where his five-o-clock-shadow had evolved into something itchier. He swallows, but nods, doesn’t want to ask how she knows. “You could have spared us ages.”_

_The pitter-patter of her feet as she exits the small room lets him know that she’s barefoot and now that his brain is finally catching up on Darcy – safe – at home – his home – safe he remembers the soft silk under his fingers where they’d automatically clung to her waist as if they’d always done it._

_He categorizes what his senses picked up about her as he washes off the dirt of a week’s fighting – the silk smelling like fresh detergent, the soft waves of her hair tickling the naked tips of his fingers as he held her, the curious lack of perfume, the tinkling of her metal as her fingers moved and her body melded to his._

_If this is his reward, then maybe Thanos should have reared his fugly head a lot earlier._

_“Move it under there, Paddy!”—she calls outside. “You’ve got a lot to get caught up on!”_

_He doesn’t doubt it one bit._

* * *

 

 


End file.
